Roses for Molly
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: a prompt fill for Lily is Wholocked. Sherlollyishness...more or less a friendship piece. rating is for language!
1. Chapter 1

Hello All: I feel like I've been off grid or something! Anyway, I am writing a story for Lasergirl77 at the moment. I am also writing another Co-piece with Iamazonian...this one should be significantly more innocent lol. Anyway, this s just one of 2 prompts sent to me by Lily s Wholocked. Which I am also working on. Since this proves to be the easier of the two options I'm filling it NOW :D

I own nothing. All characters/rights being to the creators.

Enjoy!

Roses for Molly

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Ever since he was a child Molly's father had shown her a neat little trick. Being a business man, he had often been called away to any different countries. However, he would always return with something special, mud. Now mud, to some people, may not seem anything special. After all it's slimy, wet, squishy, and usually ruins shoes and rugs. But to Molly and Albert Hooper, it was the most precious of all resources.

The tradition had started with mud from their own back yard. Albert scooped up a handful of mud, one day when Molly had returned home from school. His large fingers worked intricately with the thick paste like substance, moulding and working at it. Little Molly watched in amazement as the pile of ooze was shaped into a beautiful flower, a rose. She was astonished. Her Papa was a magician. He had laughed, and then showed her how to make mud roses of her own.

Whenever he returned home from another trip, he always carted a small plastic bowl, full of whatever mud was to be found there. They would make the roses together. Sometimes they were successful, other times, not so much. The other mud roses crumbed, withering away as if they were real roses. But they still kept that very first one and it stuck together, intrepid through the years.

Albert Hooper had just passed two weeks prior. Molly, being the only one left in her family, was left with the grueling task of sorting through her father's things. She had come across the rose while cleaning his desk. It sat proudly on one of the shelves, seemingly preserved in its perfect clay petals. Molly broke down.

She decided to take it with her to Bart's, wanting to have a piece of her Papa with her there. It would be safe there, away from her flat, where a curious Toby would, no doubt, be its source of ruin. She should have gambled on Toby. Sherlock had been in a mood for two days. John had stopped coming with him to the lab, which Molly knew meant they had been arguing. Sherlock usually overstepped his boundaries with the doctor and John only had so much patience. She tried her best to be quiet as she sat at her desk watching him work from across the way. Her fingers carefully, subconsciously, worked over the ridges of the rose, feeling the slight cracks from age. Her eyes followed the same curls of Sherlock's hair, finding their dips and hills quite similar. Soon, the detective let out a loud sigh of frustration before setting a fierce gaze on her. Molly sat up straight, knowing that look.

''Molly...what on earth is that thing?" He asked, his nose scrunching slightly in distaste. Molly's lips fell into a frown as she looked down to the small flower. Her and was swiftly brushed aside as a very quick Sherlock was now plucking it up carelessly in his large hands. Molly's hand went to retrieve it but she missed. Tears quickly flooded her eyes as he cruelly judged it.

''Hm, while I will say the idea of a rose made from mud seems like a very innovative way to grab my attentions, Molly, it is highly juvenile to think that it could win over my affections for you. Besides, this a medical facility. I hardly see how mud would be considered sanitary in the lab's sterile environment. I'll just dispose of this for you, shall I?" He briskly spoke, paralyzing the pathologist to her spot. Suddenly, before she could move to stop him, the detective was stepping out the door. Molly quickly ran after him, calling for him to stop. He continued, all the way to the exit door at the end of the hall. Having pushed it open, Sherlock chucked the tiny trinket out and onto the pavement. It smashed into thousands of pieces, all before soaking under the heavy fall of the rain. Sherlock spun to walk back inside, but was promptly greeted with cracking sound, followed by sensation, of Molly Hooper's hand slapping him in the face. He was shocked, to say the least. However, after getting over the initial feel, he sharply gazed at her. Her eyes were rimming with fierce tears, her lower lip set firm in a harsh frown. Sherlock could see her entire body shaking, and not from the influence of the cold rain as it asked them both.

''Moll..'' he started to ask what her problem was, but barely got her name out past his lips before she erupted.

''Don't 'Molly' me, Sherlock Holmes! Don't you dare act like this is me taking something too personally. I realize the solar system was a bit of an issue for you in the past, but the word still does not revolve around you! That was not for you. It was never going to be for you. That was one of the last of my dad's possessions, and I kept it for bloody sentimental purposes! Another thing you don't seem to comprehend! You...you ass!" Molly was crying through her words at this point, but she didn't care. How could she care, when the last of her happy memories washed down the curb with the rain? Sherlock was quiet. He had missed something, been too self righteous. He wasn't sure. However, as the tingling nerves in his cheek bristled further under the rain, he stepped toward her.

''I'm...Molly I...''

''Oh save it, Sherlock!" Molly scoffed and turned to go back inside. As she was, John was opening the door from inside, a very worried look on his face.

''Molly?"

''You keep him away, John. Keep him away from me, and out of the lab, and out of the morgue. Keep him the hell away from me!" Molly pointed behind her, and John's gaze flew to a very shell-shocked Sherlock. The doctor asked after her as she passed him, but she ignored his concern, bolting past him and back down the hall. It was then that John looked to his flatmate. The detectives curls were all dripping with rain, his suit drenched through. John could make out the very pink outline of a hand print appearing on his cheek, and he suddenly ad a semblance of what was casing Molly's mood.

''What the hell did you do, Sherlock?"

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Well, I think I'm going to split it up. Alf today, the rest after! Tell me what you think, yea?


	2. Chapter 2

So wow! Thank you for following and favoriting this! Just after one day, too! Special shout out to these lovely reviewers:

Thestarlitrose, SammyKatz, Almightyswot, Mayacakaia, Alexa Clyne, Chaoticmom, Lian, Benedict-Addict Holmes, Coloradoandcolorado1, Empress of Verace, Hipkarma, Theannoyingone97, Watsonsexual, Rocking the Redhead, Toys R Us Not, Magistrikes, and the Guest.

And of course Lily is Wholocked, for giving me the prompt! ;)

I love all of you supporters so much, thank you for being amazing! Now, onto chapter 2!

**Oh yea, I don't own diddly.**

Enjoy!

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It's been two weeks since Sherlock smashed her very happiness on the pavement, literally. Two weeks that she had gone without seeing or hearing from the detective who saw absolutely nothing about her. Molly had gone home that first night and sobbed until she fell asleep. He was cruel, and she was done.

Now, she worked silently in the lab of the hospital, alone. John had done his part well in keeping Sherlock away, unless the brooding man had just decided he was as done with her as she was with him. That thought made her even more upset.

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Sherlock hadn't left Baker Street in two weeks. Oh, sure he had tried those first few days. Lying to his flatmate about where he was going. Though, John never bought it.

''You know she doesn't want to see you. Just give her some time.'' John would say. Sherlock would be a lying idiot if he didn't admit that he felt, well, guilty.

Two weeks, he stayed inside. Two weeks of near silence, barely sleeping or eating. He barely touched his violin, merely lying on the sofa, brooding. John had returned home to find the detective in the exact spot he had left him. Mrs. Hudson was clearing their fridge out, and she sighed, giving the doctor a look.

''Why don't you send her a card? Or maybe some flowers? Women love things like that!" She suggested. John smiled at her, explaining the things that had taken place. Soon, Sherlock was shocked out of his reverie by the older woman's hand smacking him upside the head. The maternal lady looked down at him, meeting his widened eyes.

''You find a way to fix this, Sherlock Holmes. That sweet girl has lost so much, you...you just make it right, young man!" She scolded him, fingers flailing about in her slight fit. She heaved a frustrated sigh, before leaving the two men to themselves. Sherlock looked to John, who was simply standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

''What?"

''How are you going to fix it? With Molly, that is.'' John asked as he crossed into the room, taking a seat at his desk. Sherlock merely shrugged, his gaze returning to the ceiling.

''Does it even matter to you that you crushed her feelings? Mere weeks after her dad passed away, I might add.'' He sounded off again. Sherlock let out a deep sigh, followed by a small utterance. John looked up, having not understood.

''I said, of course it matters. Contrary to what you may believe, John, I do have enough of a conscious to tell me when I've gone too far. I didn't know...about her father. I didn't know he had passed. Had I known that piece of information, this all would have been avoided. I'd happily be conducting my experiments at Bart's right now! Instead I'm here, stuck with all this static energy in my mind! I'm going mad, John! I need to fix this, but how? How?" Sherlock spoke quickly, his past weeks thoughts rolling off his tongue with an unmatchable speed. John sighed, and shrugged.

''I don't know, mate. You could take Mrs. Hudson's suggestion, get her a card, maybe some flowers...then again, maybe not.'' John stopped, thinking how that might seem all the more cruel. However, at his statement the consulting detective shot into a standing position. John looked up at him in shock, the speed that he moved at made John dizzy.

''Brilliant! Of course! It's perfect!'' Sherlock was soon moving about the flat, collecting his coat and scarf, all before bolting out of the door. John sat, wondering what he ad said that inspired the sudden change in activity.

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Molly was just leaving Bart's. She had decided to visit the cemetery that day, and had worn a nicer pair of clothes than she usually donned. As the cab pulled up to the gates, Molly sighed. She told the driver she would return in ten minutes, and she climbed from the back seat. She didn't feel the stare as she walked up to the still fresh pile of soil. It too a few breaths before she could speak.

''I'm so sorry, Dad. I couldn't stop him. Though, maybe it's appropriate that our rose finally died. You died, it's kind of poetic, in a way. Don't you think?" Molly spoke quietly to the freshly plotted tombstone. She vaguely heard the sound of the car door shutting behind her, and she assumed it was just the cabbie taking a smoke break. She continued talking.

''The thing is, Dad, he's really bright. He's brilliant, except for where I'm concerned, I suppose. I don't think he really likes me all that much. It shouldn't surprise me anymore when he's so cruel. It really shouldn't.'' She sighed, feeling the guilt seeping in rapidly.

''I called him an ass. Told him to stay away from me. To be fair, in that moment, I meant it. But not for forever. I...I need him, Dad. Insults and all, I like having him near. I think... think I've ruined that. He didn't deserve to be sent away. He just...doesn't understand how to treat people. It's because he's so clever. I know it is. I feel awful.'' Tears started to fall from her cheeks as she let the emotions wash over her.

''What do I do, Dad? I've already lost you. I don't want to lose him, too.'' Molly cried, her arms wrapping around her thin waist as the sobs wracked through her frame. It was in that moment that she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She gasped, standing straight up.

''You haven't lost me, Molly Hooper. I thought I had lost you.'' His deep voice spoke with a gentleness that she hadn't heard before. Through teary eyes, she turned and looked up, coming face to face with her detective. She looked to the cab, to see the driver's seat was empty realization swept over her, and she chuckled through the tears.

''I am so sorry. You were right, I acted like an ass.'' He said to her in earnest. Molly sighed and nodded her head.

''So did I.'' She answered. Sherlock was fidgeting slightly, one hand held behind his back. Molly caught on, and gave him a curious look. He sighed, and almost same fully pulled it forward, revealing a small, lopsided and awkwardly formed rose. The mud was still fairly moist, and she could make out where he had tried several times to form the sweeping petals. Molly smiled even brighter, and looked up to his face. He returned her gaze, his eyes filling with uncertainty.

''I realize it can't replace the importance of the one that I destroyed, but I...'' Sherlock had began explaining that it was his attempt at apologizing. He was cut off by Molly's lips meeting his in a small, chaste kiss. She lowered herself back to the ground, before carefully plucking the mud rose from his hand.

''Thank you, Sherlock.'' She said in a quiet voice. Sherlock grinned from the corner of his mouth, a boyish grin trying to muster its way to the surface. Molly said goodbye to her father's grave, before walking with Sherlock to the car.

The tombstone stood upright and strong, holding up the delicate, if not awkward claying rose. All was right, even as the rain started to fall, slowly pelting the flower with large drops.

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Well, there you have it, everyone! I hope you liked it. :D Again, thank you for the response to this story, and thank you to Lily for giving me the prompt. 


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